Close Calls
by Burnup
Summary: Started as a review for PZ, turned into dramatized little snippets of my gameplay with friends. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

One day it's "We have the unknown virus contained."

The next: "IT HAS GONE AIRBORNE, EVACUATE!"

I make my way out of my trailer with my immediate needs packed up, moving briskly to where I park my car. While fumbling with my keys a hand grabs my shoulder roughly from behind. I drop the keys, turning around to see a spittle and gash covered Rodger who works the mini-mart down the road staring at me with not an hint of recognition in his cloudy eyes. I scream as he lunges his head forward opening his jaw as if to bite me.

You know, Looking back. Screaming was probably a horrible decision. But without the fallout thereof I would never have met him.

Shortly following my scream I was accosted by more of whatever Rodger now was, slowly moving in my direction. I quickly reach into my purse and stab rodger in the eye with the first thing i could grab. The pen was evidently effective, as he immediately went limp. Free of his grasp but still panicking, I completely forget all thoughts of what I had just done to Rodger or of retrieving my keys.

I just ran.

At the time, it felt like I ran forever. I didn't even wonder at the lack of other living people. I was pretty sure I had lost my pursuers when I stumbled panting out of a thicket of forest and into a suburb. There were dead bodies strewn up and down the street. I only had a moment to take this in before I heard rustling in the thicket behind me. I glanced back and affirmed my fears. not just one, five.

I involuntarily gasp as I notice their eyes locked on me. No stealth, I made a break for it down the body speckled pavement. About halfway down the street I could hear fighting behind me. I look over my shoulder and trip on a body, hitting the ground, hard.

wincing in pain I scramble to get up! to run! But that is when I saw him, a man with a baseball bat bashing those.. things until they stopped moving. I look around the corpse ridden street and then back at him.

"Hey!" he says not too loud, jogging up to me stopping at a respectable distance and lowering his bat. "are you hurt?" There seems to be an icy undertone to his intonation, as well as a hidden subtext.

"Yeah-" I notice his body slightly tense up at the word. "when I fell just now." At this he appears to relax. He begins to size me up, looking me top to toe. Then his intense, yet indifferent eyes lock with mine, and seem to see something of interest. then he shrugs turning his back to me and walking off, effortlessly avoiding tripping over bodies.

"You coming?" He calls out without looking back.

Everyone turned in just one night. I still wonder why fate spared me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Week seven, I hear a soft knock on my bedroom door. I lazily throw a pillow at it, sleep slowly disentangling from my mind.

"It's about that time." He calls in. I mumble something back. "What do you want for breakfast?" he continues. I immediately perk up and then recognize his jovial, yet slightly smug tone. Learn how to pull my strings have we? I'll get you back, I think with a mischievous smile.

The morning chores of tending the small farm in the backyard is one of my favorite activities of each day. Afterward, we have breakfast together and then I set out to our impromptu lumber yard. While Charles goes on his morning patrol jog, baseball bat slung over his shoulder.

Later in the afternoon I was working on the roof trying my hand at making a catwalk to our garage. I had prior experience from fencing off and fortifying three houses. How much harder can a catwalk be? Besides, one of my books covered the subject. I had already installed the support beams and now was putting up the actual walk itself. I completed it on the third day. Victoriously walking along the catwalk, I take a few steps onto the garage roof followed by it collapsing under me.

Charles hears the collapse and soon finds me unconscious, leg broken, bleeding out from a deep wound in my thigh. It seems he wasn't the only one who heard. Guttural screaming coming from the distance.

After laying her down in her bed and grabbing the little medical kit she always keeps stocked, he stared into the contents with rapidly escalating panic. 'I have no idea what to do!' He thinks. Having little to no experience with medical application. 'she's always the one sowing me up.'

Every second of hesitation sees more of her blood escaping her body. Yet medical malpractice could very well have the same result. He quickly comes to a conclusion and takes a handkerchief and a bottle of alcohol, wetting the parcel of cotton and placing it under her nose.

I woke into a world of sharp agony, looking up into Charles' pleading eyes and pained expression. I all at once come back to the sharp reality of the situation. I'm still bleeding, there is banging and screaming of the infected downstairs, Charles is worried sick.

"I don't know what to do, walk me through it." He says, failing to sound confident.

"Ok, help me sit up against the headboard." I respond weakly. Sitting up was a miserable affair, though I can finally get a good look at him. He really has lost his nerve. Hands shaking so bad he wasn't going to be any use with a needle. Or pulling out the splinter of wood the length of my forearm protruding from my leg. I clench my teeth. "On second thought, go downstairs and deal with the infected."

He looks at me questioningly. I'm already leaning forward trying to find the best way to go about getting the splinter out, while my hands work on administering painkiller. I glance at his shaking hands, his gaze following mine. I meet his eyes arching an eyebrow with a doubtful expression. He comes back to himself and nods, heading to the door.

I was finally done and utterly exhausted when Charles came in with a tray balanced on one arm. The fragrance of rice porridge immediately becoming prevalent in my room. I pull an eye open to look at the contents of the tray. He didn't stop with porridge.. I dumbly grin at him. Jello, orange juice, water and brandy are also precariously balanced on the surface. He sat in the chair next to my bed the whole night. I was so out of it that I didn't even notice the lack of banging downstairs until the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Week eighteen and I'm starting to come to the conclusion that my leg injury must've caused minor nerve damage, because my leg still isn't working correctly. Don't get me wrong, I can walk around on my own. Just don't challenge me to any marathons or competitions of elegance. I haven't really left the house since the incident except to work on the farm or perimeter barricade.

Charles has taken over lumber work in my stead. He has really put on his best show of patience and support as I struggle with my mental fortitude as the realization of my now permanent disability leads my thoughts to the imminent conclusion of mortality. Resulting in hypervigilance taking the form of overactive paranoia.

So much so, that it almost cost me his life.

I had told him, I had told him! "It's too late at night, just look how tired you are." I said with concern evident in my expression. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the boarded up window that had just stopped being bashed on. He had been pushing himself too hard, and even though I started working again, he has not slowed down his pace. An unsettling purview of his internal stress and anxiety creeping out from between the plates of the armored facade he attempts to keep.

"If we're quiet, they'll forget and leave." I finish up, trying to catch his eye.

He continues staring at the barricade. "I can't sleep well knowing their right outside." He says, slightly shaking his head. Suddenly he stands up as if he's decided, grabbing his baseball bat as he heads out.

I can't really hold that sentiment against him.. Only that he's risking his life for comfort.. I can't help but wonder if the endless 'killing' is getting to his head. Maybe becoming a way to vent his anxiety. I go back to my workshop with these uncomfortable thoughts going in circles around me, paranoia kicking in, blocking my vision, screaming into my ears.

 _What if he snaps?_

It takes me a few minutes to gather myself so I could finish preparing the boards that I'm going to use tomorrow to improve the eastern farm barricade that almost came down because of a migrating horde the day before.

I got shaken out of the worries circling my person when I hear a scream.

"Crystaaal! Distract them!" It was Charles, he sounded like he was shouting through pain. I froze in place over the table saw, about to finish a board. I warned him. I began the movement required to aid him, yet stopped. Looking down at my gimp leg, I imagined how much help I could be. I head to the window and shouted out. "That's suicidal with this leg!"

"Get out here! I just need you to distract two or three of them so I can finish these ones!" I spot him through the window as he came around the corner. When I got a good look at him I gasped, he was beaten and limping with seven infected closing in.

I can't let him die. I gripped the closest thing that seemed like a weapon; my hammer. And awkwardly handled the rope, jumping out the second story window rappelling down as fast as I could. Hitting the ground hard I stumbled across the street to assist, falling under the scrutiny of three infected. My previous desperation for him to survive left me as the blood left my face. All I can see in my mind is me dead, lying there on the road.

I panicked. Knowing I shouldn't have come. I attacked with adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a sickening crunch of cartilage and bone, the infected's face caved in as my hammer nailed it's nose with all the force I could bring to bare. Before it limply dropped to the ground I was already focused on the next threat.

After dispatching the infected and getting Charles inside, I began diagnostics on him. First his ankle, there was blood seeping through his pant leg and his limp is exaggerated. I cut the clothing to get a better view. With a sharp intake of breath, I stared at the bite mark.


End file.
